


Temperor

by Rumlo



Category: Stellaris (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, NaNoWriMo, POV First Person, Psionics, Psychic Abilities, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27352582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumlo/pseuds/Rumlo
Summary: Five's Roost is a recently colonised world in the United Federation of Species and the home of the uplifted Margans. After their family is killed in the dead of night, Excellent Dilligence finds their life completely upended.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

I ran my hand through my head feathers and grimaced when my talons came back bright green. The rain was washing out my dyes again. Bronzebrook’s frequent downpours had hit an all time high this time of year. I saw the market sellers outside covering up their goods in waterproof fabric. The crowds began to meander in the direction of the market pavilion. Some of the wandering forest people threw their hands up in exasperation and bundled their goods into wooden boxes.

“Would this hammock suffice then?” Fine Outcome asked, his head leading with his right eye. He gestured to his stall and all the goods on it. I’d always known Outcome to be an accomplished artisan with equally skilled apprentices, and the wares he had on sale today did nothing to disprove the impression. All the woodworks on the table looked expertly whittled and carved. “Honorable Point has been experimenting with Terrial fabrics and I think you’ll find the result to be quite comfortable.” His eye rested on my robe collar, which I had no doubt was slowly turning green. It had been a mistake to start the day in bright colours, which were no doubt mixing horribly with the green dye.

“Honorable Point’s work has been impressive recently,” I said, “I thought that long coat with the animals was quite inspiring.” The first of the rush from the rain had reached the pavilion now. The sellers were looking a lot more energetic now. 

Outcome shook his arm. “She will be delighted to hear that. My apprentices have needed some motivation as of late.”. He noticed the approaching crowd and paused. “I imagine you’re here for your parents’ order?” 

Taking the dismissal for what it was, I waved my arm. “My parents order, and to examine your marvelous wares. My dear mother and father wanted me to collect it if you had finished it.” I was careful not to sound curious. If Fine Outcome knew that they hadn’t told me what it was then there was no way that he’d let me know. 

Outcome bent down to retrieve a small parcel from beneath his stall. He rose slowly and I was once again reminded of how old the craftsman Margan was. Many of his feathers had fallen out and the feathers in his once vibrant plume had begun to look tattered. I led with my left eye on him as he swayed from the exertion. The parcel was wrapped in rough fabric and by pressing lightly with my digits I could tell that the contents was curved. A basket? “The paint finished drying last night,” he said, “the colours have been carefully chosen to match your mother’s specifications.” Oh. A curved item commissioned by my mother and painted by Fine Outcome. I was going to have a sibling.

I froze. “My mother?” Fine Outcome frowned as he realised his mistake, but it was too late. “Never mind,” I said quickly, “I’ll take the package now. It’s been a pleasure seeing you again, Fine Outcome.”

The craftsman stood uncomfortably and his right eye raked over my face in search of something. I tried to look as knowledgeable as I could, and perhaps it worked. “It was a pleasure seeing you again too, Excellent Dilligence.”

*** 

Finding Sincere Day in the market crowds wasn’t terribly difficult. The Margan had a colourful array of red and blue feathers that he swore were completely natural. Furthermore, he was tall for a Margan and he practically towered over those around him. I could see him picking his way through the crowd carefully, leading with his left eye as he cast his gaze wide. I pushed through the throng more slowly than I would have liked, careful not to drop or damage the damnable package - Mother’s egg plate - in my grip. My eye met his own and he smiled. I immediately felt better, though not by much.

“Dilligence,” Day said, “were you waiting long?” He was careful not to mention the streaks of feather dye that were no doubt running down my neck and over my robe. We headed over to one of the corners of the pavilion, past a young Margan woman selling an eclectic collection of divination cubes. Sincere Day glanced over some of them but quickly lost interest when the digital displays flashed up with prices. I said nothing; like many Margan households, Day’s family had never been particularly wealthy despite holding managerial positions and working long hours in Bronzebrook’s Element factories. My parents had been coordinating efforts to raise the wages, but it was the work of years. 

“Not at all,” I replied, gesturing to the egg pl- the package under my arm. “My parents had commissioned something from craftsman Fine Outcome. I was considering purchasing a new hanging bed too. Were you?” 

A heavy set Margan barged past between us, driving the wind from Sincere Day. I whirled, furious, before remembering where I was and what I was holding. “Let’s find somewhere quieter,” I said. It was a lot easier to navigate the market crowd while in a bad mood, though from the sounds left in my wake I imagined the other market goers disagreed. Eventually I reached one of the pavilion exits and waited for Day to catch up with me. A female Margan in a brown suit bought a knick knack from the stall closest to the door. Her feathers were dyed a dark brown but the dye wasn’t running down her back.

“My apologies, my apologies, excuse me!” Sincere Day finished navigating the crowd and examined me carefully with his right eye. I forced myself to remain calm, but I was so on edge that I doubted the effort was convincing. A gust of wind blew through the open automatic door and I turned my body to shield the package from the rain. “Would you like to find somewhere dry to drink?” Sincere Day looked at me with a degree of sympathy that I would have found condescending coming from anyone else.

I shook my arm that wasn’t holding the package in agreement. “That sounds lovely,” I said, “though it would have to be close: I can’t let this thing get wet.” 

The largest tourist spot is a few streets east of Bronzebrook’s largest market square, along the Bronze river. It wasn’t terribly difficult to get there from the market, and we hurried quickly in the miserable weather. Without the crowds to push through Sincere Day outpaced me easily. We were both huffing and puffing as we rested at a taxi stop next to the river bank. I took a handkerchief from my satchel and began dabbed at the green dye running down my neck. “I need to get better feather dyes,” I bemoaned, “or pay more attention to the weather forecasts.”

Sincere Day made a show of wiggling his hand in support, the motion rustling his red anorak. I frowned at him. Day made his expression carefully blank and coughed three times. He appeared to try to choose his words carefully. “Have you considered gene surgery?”

I waved my left arm dismissively. “That kind of cosmetic operation isn’t covered in my family’s insurance. A bit disappointing considering how much it costs per 30 days.” While the light jog through the rainy streets of Bronzebrook had cooled my temper significantly it was an effort not to snap at him. Talking about my family certainly hadn’t helped with the package in my arm looming in my mind. “None of that for now though,” I said, “where shall we go to drink?”.

The tea shops were all open at this time of day. The tables and chairs outside by the roads were being soaked and the indoor tables were packed wherever we went. Eventually we found ourselves in a small tea shop under a bridge that smelled faintly of mold and tea. A Paverim was wiping the tables. From their hair and forehead wrinkles I could guess that they were female. Not for the first time, I wished I’d spent more time looking up species’ sexual dimorphism. 

“Welcome,” the Paverim said. Her mouth opening contorted strangely as her people’s language flowed out of her head, the translator in my ear picking up the sentences and translating it into city-tongue. “Take a seat and I will be with you shortly.” 

We found a booth and sat down. I placed the egg plate on the table and tried not to slump. We ordered a red and blue tea each and drank in silence. I gulped down the hot leaf juice as politely as I could, leaving the dregs at the bottom. I studied the Margan opposite me thoughtfully. The door chimed and a Liso walked into the shop clad in the red-moon-colour jumpsuit of a Munnki. The Liso looked around with the air of someone making a point of being peaceful before their eyes reached our table and they froze. I raised the tea cup to my mouth and made a show of enjoying my tea. I hoped they wouldn’t try to proselytise to us. The Munnki had a habit of poking their heads where they didn’t belong and dying in entirely avoidable ways.

“This is good tea,” Sincere Day said, drained the last of the cup and leaned back into his chair. I made a point of keeping my posture straight-backed but someone like Day wouldn’t care unless someone else was watching and I apparently didn’t count. “How have you been then, Dilligence?” 

I waved my arm noncommitedly. “I’ve been fine. Not quite sure what to do now that I’ve finished basic education. How about you?”

Day pretended to sip at his tea. I watched him, concerned. For all his relative lack of social grace, Day had rarely if ever felt the need to coach his words. Day gasped in appreciation of the tea and set the cup back down on the table. He opened his beak, closed it, then opened it again. I turned my left eye to him and waited.

“I suppose I could join the Munnki,” I joked. Day chuckled politely at my terrible joke. “Or perhaps I could take my martial arts instructors to their word and enter some of the Federation competitions.” Day was still quiet. I called for the Paverim and our tea cups were refilled.

After a few moments of companionable silence he said, “I’m going to try to join the Legion.” I nearly dropped my cup.

“I thought you hated fighting,” I said carefully. Sincere Day was the least violent Margan I knew in our age group. When the other children would have been fighting in pretend honour duels, Day had always chosen to apologise instead. It was simultaneously his most endearing and annoying quality.

Sincere Day shook his arm vigorously. “I do,” he said, “but the wages are better than anything on Five’s Roost, and if I serve properly I can become a citizen there.” 

“I see,” I said, “and what if the Terrials invade? Or the Federation declares another liberation war?” I began to wave my left arm before realising I was holding the teacup in that hand. I waved the other arm instead. 

My friend shifted in his seat uncomfortably at my response, which was likely why he had been so hesitant to even tell me. I shut my beak and let myself slouch down into my seat. Of course he hadn’t wanted to tell me if that was going to be my reaction. Still. The idea of Sincere Day in a Legionnaire’s uniform felt absurd. I forced myself to relax. 

Sincere Day stared into his teacup. “I was thinking of joining the logistics division,” he said. Day lead with his left eye and stared into my right eye. “Do my part in protecting the Federation. See the galaxy. The planets that got into space on their own without Element Holdings. I don’t want to die on Five’s Roost without having seen other worlds.” 

“I didn’t realise you felt so strongly about this,” I said, feeling strangely hurt. Where had this Day been all these years. He’d overtaken me. I shook my arm at him and narrowed my right eye. “Good luck to you. You will be amazing. I know it.” Suddenly embarrassed, I drained my tea. My arm brushed against the packaged egg plate which I had entirely forgotten was there. I very carefully did not look at it.

Day either did not notice my apprehension towards the package or was too eager to change the subject to care. “So what is that,” he asked, “another package from Craftsmargan Fine Outcome? That’s his wrappings. What’s in there?”

“It’s an egg plate,” I bit out, “Looks like I’m going to have a sibling.”

Sincere Day smiled enthusiastically. “Congratulations!”

I took another sip of tea and Day’s forced good cheer faded. “What’s wrong,” he asked carefully, “don’t you want a younger sibling?” 

No. Of course not. “That’s not exactly it,” I said, “I just know I’m going to have to look after it a lot when my parents aren’t around. And…” I snapped my beak shut.

“And what?” Sincere Day was worried, the tea in his hands entirely forgotten and threatening to spill onto his lap. 

“Never mind,” I said quickly. “When are you planning to join the Legion?”

“Next month.”

We talked for a while longer about light topics such as the holy Gnollden Wlama, the gateway construction project in Drop of Silver and the weather in Freshettree (rain). We both made an effort to avoid any topics that even approached eggs or military conflict.

I picked the egg plate off the table and paid the Paverim for the extra tea, making sure to leave a tip large enough for both Day and myself. We both left the tea shop and went our separate ways. The rain had tapered off towards the end of our stay and the air felt clean. I could hear Sincere Day walking across the bridge over the tea shop. A Margan woman in a brown suit sat by the river side in the distance, watching the hover boats float down the river. I took a breath of fresh air and was surprised to find myself calm. I supposed it must have been the river killing my temper.

The tea shop door opened behind me. The Munnki Liso stepped out, their orange-coloured fur rustling in the breeze where it poked out beneath the tightly fitted Munnki uniform. “Greetings,” they said, “I would like a word with you, if I may?”

What would it take for me to stay in a good mood today? “You may have a word with me, yes Munnki,” I said as casually as I could. Despite being mammalian the Liso always sounded like small lizards when they spoke which added some hilarity when a Munnki Liso started preaching about the seven dimensions. “It’s always a pleasure to hear what our eight-dimensioned cousins have to say. What wisdom do you have to impart?”

If the Liso seemed offended they gave no sign. “That is wonderful. Though you should know that all beings are seven-dimensional. The eighth dimension in scripture is Millenia. But I digress. I have a warning for you, young Margan, if you would care to hear it.”

“A warning? The circumstances must be grave for one of the Munnki to notice my fates. And I apologise for implying that we were in any way kin to the eye of the galaxy.”

The Liso bared their teeth and I shifted on my feet at the implied threat before remembering that baring your teeth was how the Liso showed good humour. “All is forgiven, young Margan. We are all kin to Millenia in our own way, being guided by its plan. I must be blunt, though.” The Liso’s set their jaw in a way that I could only guess signified sincerity. “Your aura has become infected with ill tidings. You should be very careful in the next few days. Your existence may depend on it.”


	2. Chapter 2

“My existence is under threat?” I tried not to let any derision enter my voice. I wasn’t sure that I was entirely successful though when translators entered any conversation it was anyone’s bet as to whether undertones made it through the language barrier. No matter how much the Munnki was annoying me with their proselytising I couldn’t be impolite. “I see. I’ll make sure to keep an eye out.”

If the Munnki was noticed my sarcasm they gave no sign. “That is all I ask,” they said, “good day to you.” With those words they climbed the steps to the bridge and left. A brown suited Margan woman sitting by the riverside watched the Munnki go.

Only once the Munnki was safely out of earshot on the other side of the river and out of earshot did I let my chuckles turn into laughter. The Munnki as a rule were completely insane. Far from ruining my good mood that ridiculous exchange had only bolstered it.

My good mood lasted until I arrived back home. The Rharear house was larger than most in the city, a remnant of the days when the Rharears had presided over the agrarian settlement that had been developed into Bronzebrook. The Rharears still had some sway in the local politics, mostly when negotiating with the forest people.

Not that my family lived in the palace: the Rharears rented out the palace in the center of Bronzebrook to the Element Holidaying Agency for a tidy sum, and they maintained it for us in return. Our family home was much smaller than the palace and situated on the outer rim of the city - as far as you could go without leaving the rocky soil that repelled the forests. It was painted a metallic yellow, meant to look both artistic and modern. Like most updated pre-uplift architecture the windows were triangular with energy fields added later to replace the primitive wooden grids. With five floors and only three people living there it was exactly as empty as you’d expect. At least the new sibling would have plenty of space to run around in.

I didn’t bother announcing my presence as I entered the house, eager to wash off the green dye that had soaked into my feathers. I set the egg plate parcel down on the table and made my way up the stairs to the sonic shower. I disrobed and stepped into the shower booth. Sound waves tuned to the harmonic frequencies of my body shook the dirt and grime off my skin and feathers. Once the first phase ended a torrent of steam blasted me from the ceiling, moisturising my feathers. Now clean, I left the shower booth and took a bottle of green feather dye from the medicine cabinet. I brushed the dye into my feathers and waited for them to dry.

For lack of anything better to do, I started flicking through news channels on my data pad. The Terrial Empire had been found disappearing its non-terrial subjects to secret penal planets. A Gnollden woman tried to sue Element Drinks after her requested hot tea burned her. I suppose that was what you could expect from the Gnolldens. The Legion commissions a new fleet of battleships from the Shantari Drive Yards, equipped with disruptor cannons.

Why did Sincere Day think it was a good idea to join the Legion? The pay wasn’t that good. He could be killed. Did he hate it on Five’s Roost so much that he’d risk death? Was nothing here good enough?

The news application provided no less than five articles of celebrity gossip, and another article on the actions of the Terrial Empire; apparently they’d been conducting illegal weapons on void clouds. One headline cheerfully told me that a Federation archaeological project had unearthed Mek-Tottu fossils on a barren planet five systems away from their evolutionary home. The implications were groundbreaking, apparently.

With my feathers dyed I returned to my room and pulled out the training suit. The suit was a resistance trainer - you could set it to work against your every movement while you exercised and you’d build up muscle much faster. I usually used it while I was running and relied on the supposedly abnormal Margan muscle potential to keep myself in shape, but with the recent weather being what it was I thought I might just job on the spot in my room instead. I poked my head out of the window to check the weather one last time and saw a brown suited Margan woman standing under a lamp post. Probably waiting for someone. From the Rharear ancestral home you could barely see the forests. The Comhonlim copse was approaching Bronzebrook at this time of year, and I could see the orange leaves on the horizon.

Before I started my routine I unhooked my old and ragged hammock from the ceiling and folded it into the crevice in the wall behind a hanging tapestry depicting the uplifting of the Margans in traditional panoramic art. It was a somewhat awkward place to put the hammock, especially when you had to lift up the bottom of the tapestry but it was the best place to put it out of the way while I exercised in my relatively sparse room. When I was younger it had been my favourite hiding spot, and I could still fit in there even if it was tightly cramped.

After a brief but intense exercise session I checked the time. The family usually convened in the late evening for dinner, which meant that I still had a few hours to myself. With basic education having ended only last week and being the only child - the eldest child now - of a formerly noble household I theoretically had a number of options open to me. Mostly as some kind of cultural spokesperson, or on the tourism boards where my family name still carried a kind of weight. I didn’t want to work in tourism though. While I couldn’t say I was fond of Bronzebrook something still struck me as obscene about selling it off to the masses in the core Federation planets. To be perfectly honest, with how strange the day had been this wasn’t something I wanted to think about right now.

I finished my exercise sets and re entered the sonic shower. I still had a few hours until my family would return and all my old school friends had other plans for the day or had already started their first shifts at the Element Industries factories. A quick check on my data pad revealed that the market pavilion was still open until late at night. Time to buy a new hammock then.

*** 

By the time I arrived at the market for the second time that day business had slowed to a crawl. Half of the stalls in the pavilion had closed for the day and I could see Fine Outcome packing away his goods. The hammock had been sold. I left the pavilion through the two main doors at the front of the structure. The street tiles on the road to the pavilion were wet and slippery and I trod on them carefully. The rain had mostly ceased save for a few spatterings of rain that made me glad that I’d decided to wear my raincoat this time. I caught the left eye of an old Margan forest woman attending a stall only a few metres from the front doors to the pavilion. Her table and tent were stocked with a number of items that I only barely recognised, including a stuffed hammock. I approached her stall and inspected the hammock. It was one and a half times larger than my old hammock which I’d had for five years now. The fabric was also rougher to the touch than my own hammock. It was also not as beautiful as Honorable Point’s hammock though I’d have been shocked if it cost even half the price. 

“Want this hammock?” the Margan forest woman asked. She was shorter than most Margans and her while the language she spoke was the same as my own, the stresses on the syllables and clicks sounded different enough that it was a struggle to make out her words. I switched my translator into active mode, disguising the motion as making a show of examining the hammock thoughtfully. 

“I’m not entirely certain yet, though I am leaning towards yes,” I said, “Why is the hammock stuffed except for this section here?”

She paused, eyeing me as if I were deliberately asking a stupid question and said, “That’s the rain cover. It’s stuffed with Tassavy feathers to keep the cold out.”

It was a fair question on my part. “That sounds… warm,” I said, “I’m not sure that-” the forest woman took a wooden box from the satchel at her waist and shook it up and down five times. Once she was done she slid the lid off and peered into the box. “Excuse me?” I snapped.

Whatever she had seen in the box must have concerned her, because she looked at me with something approaching pity in her eyes and said, “I feel like you might need it in the future. It’s ten credits.”

I had to admire the woman’s selling technique. Her routine was certainly disconcerting. “That wouldn’t happen to be a divination cube in your box, would it?”

The forest woman shook her arm. “A fate dice, yes. I find it helps me make good decisions.” I kept my face blank and my arms perfectly still. “Would you like to have a reading?” she asked me.

I waved my arm slowly in the negative. “I wouldn’t want to impose, Madame…”

“Positive Ulklaw. And it’s really no trouble.” She shook the divination cube in its box vertically five times. After the last rattle she slid the lid off the top and showed me the cube inside. “This is for the present.”

The sky was dim in the evening light but the lamps on the front of the towering pavilion provided enough illumination to see inside the narrow box. The cube inside looked incredibly old, perhaps older than even Bronzebrook. It sat flat against the bottom of the box. The upwards face was painted with straight blue lines - the symbol for water.

Death.

“I got that the last time too,” Madame Positive told me. She slid the lid back onto the box and shook the box up and down six times. The next showing would be for the future. The box lid was removed again and I peered inside again.

A triangle and a feather. The symbol for metal.

“Is that it then?” I asked, “Will I die now and yet somehow do great things in the future? Is that what the Divination Cube says? You said it helps you make decisions, yes? I plan to go home without buying your hammock or anything at all, then go to bed. What are the portents for that?”

“Fate dice,” Madame Ulklaw said absently. She shook the box vertically five times and showed the contents to me again. 

Water again.

I shivered, suddenly cold beneath my padded anorak. A threat to my existence, the Munnki had said. Now the forest woman had rolled for death twice, or even three times if it hadn’t been a trick. “Ten credits,” I said, fishing out my wallet.

Ulklaw rolled the hammock and tied it with twine. “The Ulklaws are returning to Comhonlim,” she said conversationally. “Bronzebrook has been dangerous recently. Be careful.”

What could you even say to that? I left the market with a hammock in hand and began the trek home. A Margan woman in a brown suit followed me to the transport stop but didn’t get on the bus when it arrived. She sat at the station and watched the bus leave. 

The world felt darker, and not just because the sun had finally disappeared into the skyline. Every shadow on the road felt menacing. The Munnki I could ignore, but a divination cube was much more convincing. Both at once? 

I hurried home and was disappointed to find that the lights were on in the dining room, where I’d left the egg plate. My parents were home. Holding the hammock in front of me like a shield I entered the house.

***

“The strike starts soon,” my mother said, “it has been a long time coming.” 

Dinner was quiet. My father - Eminent Change, and my mother - Righteous Mountain were often missing from the table, but today they had made it home. I glanced at the parcel I’d delivered, now placed on the Beknom-wood cupboard in the corner of the room. The doors to the cupboard were shut, the metal latch moved into the locking position. It was usually left open. Could the egg be in there? 

Eminent Change led his gaze on me with his right eye and I adjusted my seat. “The strike?” I asked. No wonder they’d been coming home later recently. “I thought the Element Holdings associated factories had a no strike rule?”  
“That is why it is imperative to strike,” Righteous Mountain said. My mother was as sombre as usual. “We have allies in the other cities that will strike with us. All the cities besides Earthbeck.”

I recalled the divination cube. The Munnki’s words. Death. “Everyone will be fired,” I said. “They won’t want to seem weak.”

Eminent Change dropped his spoon into the bowl of beetle stew and shook both arms in vigorous disagreement. He said, “Five’s Roost produces almost five percent of their total products. They will not want to risk falling short this year, with the Terrial Empire driving up their domestic production.”

“That makes sense,” I said slowly, “but be careful.” Could I see a machine in the cupboard? My father caught my staring at the cupboard and exchanged looks with my mother. “What is in that cupboard?” I asked.

“It is a-” Righteous Mountain started to say. She snapped her beak shut and slid her table-stool to the side. “It would be better to show you.” My mother walked to the cupboard and brought back the parcel, which she placed on the table. She untied the parcel bend knot that held the fabric together and lay it on the table, revealing the egg plate.

The egg plate was a convex oval-shaped wooden plate, varnished and painted by Fine Outcome following the specifications of my mother’s dreams. It would sit on my future sibling’s egg incubator and when the time came my father would use it as inspiration to name them.

Apparently my mother had been dreaming of night when she’d laid the egg. Dark colours featured prominently on the plate - blues, greens and reds. Tiny smudges that could be interpreted as Margans danced around the rim of the painting, each following what I could only call random household items. A starship, though not like one I’d seen before, swam through the stars in the corner.

“You’re having another child,” I said, “When?”

My father walked to the cupboard and opened the latch. With both arms he took a silver, metallic object from the cupboard and carried it to the table like it was made of glass. An egg incubator. Shaped like a large egg itself with a flattened underside for safe storage and carrying, it would keep the egg inside warm and safe until it was time for it to hatch. Righteous Mountain took the egg plate and slid it into the net pocket on the side of the incubator, where it would stay until the egg hatched.

I could see the egg itself through the clear window on the top of the incubator. The egg was a dark green, and was apparently healthy judging by the statistics flashing across the window. In the centre of the window, written in Federation logograph, the time to hatching read ‘approximately five months’.

We all spent a while admiring the egg, drinking our beetle soup and making small talk about the state of the city. While still tense, it was a vast improvement from most meals where there was no good news to hold their attentions.

Once the beetle soup was finished I gave thanks for the meal and made my way up to the bedroom. My old hammock still hung in the center of the room. I briefly considered going through the process of unhooking it and replacing it with my new hammock, but it was so late that I judged it not worth the effort. I’d do it in the morning.

***

When I woke up it was still dark. I lay in my hammock wishing I could fall back to sleep. This wouldn’t have happened if I’d hung the new hammock up instead, I thought. 

The stairs creaked. The third step had been noisy as of late, and the fourth was little better. Was it Righteous Mountain or Eminent Change outside? The stairs creaked twice, three, four, five times. What were my parents doing?

A door opened on this floor as the stairs creaked a sixth time. “Who is that?” My mother. 

There was a thud and a scream. 

I leapt from the hammock and raced to my door. There was a second scream and thud. My father. The water divination sign flashed through my mind. Death. I turned to the window. My room was one floor off the ground. Could I make it? Yes, but they’d catch me quickly with my inevitably broken legs. I heard footsteps outside the door. I considered the tapestry. A rope? No, the alcove. I hurled my new hammock out of the window and shoved myself into the alcove behind the tapestry.

I heard my bedroom door slide open. People, Margans, walked in. They must have seen my broken window because one of them pushed their way past my old hammock (the hooks in the ceiling were half rusted) and said, “The younger one escaped, must have used that padded hammock to break his fall.” 

Another voice, likely female, cursed. “Speech, Ability, you go to chase them down. Delivery and I will burn the house.”

A pause.

“Are you sure?” another voice. “Holdings wanted to send a message. I think this counts.”

Holdings? Why had a Margan named Holdings wanted my family dead. My mind raced. I barely dared to breath.

“Of course. They heard us. What if they saw our faces? We cannot risk this. Now go.”

I kept my breathing as calm and steady as I could. The world faded away and I began to feel hungry, as if I had been starving for days. The words of the murderers became like static. Background. I blinked and exhaled. Could I smell smoke? 

The house was burning. I staggered out from under the tapestry and ran to my parents’ bedroom. I tripped on something soft and fell to the ground. I turned my head back and forgot to breath. The glazed eyes of Righteous Mountain. Ahead of me, slumped against the bedroom door frame was Eminent Change. They were dead. The flames in the hallway crackled yet I could barely hear them.

The egg. I needed to save the egg.

I held my bed robe’s sleeve to my mouth and ran down the stairs to the dining room. The incubator wasn’t on the table. I searched the room in panic until I remembered the cupboard felt like a fool. The incubator sat on the bottom shelf. I took it into my arms as carefully as I could and looked out the window. A Margan woman in a brown suit stood by the front door, holding something to her ear. A communicator? 

The hunger pangs returned. The world’s colours faded. I was going to kill her. I stood by the door, setting the incubator down. The front door opened outwards. 

“The house is burning,” she said, “no sign of the heir.” She returned the communicator to her jacket pocket and watched the fire burn. She was tired, and guilty. She wasn’t sure how it had come to this. I didn’t care.

I threw the door open, stunning the murderer. She stumbled backwards and I kicked her in the head. There was a crack and she fell to the ground.

Colour returned to the world and I stared at the body I had created. I wasn’t hungry anymore. I felt sick. 

Holdings had done this. I was an idiot. Element Holdings had done this. They wanted to break up the strike. What was going to happen now? Element Holdings was the most powerful organisation in the city - on the planet. I and my new sibling would be helpless and I was sure they wouldn’t let me go after this. I screamed and punched the door. It hurt. I’d have to run away. Leave the city. Go into hiding. 

I remembered Ulklaw. She’d come from Comhonlim. It was close.

I took the incubator back into my arms, stepped over the body and ran around the house until I was beneath my bedroom window. I picked up my new hammock and wrapped it around the incubator. I was going to need it if I was to survive the winter forest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having fled Bronzebrook, Excellent Dilligence approaches Comhonlim for aid.

The cold night air bit deep into my bones as I walked the long dirt path to the edges of the dead zone. Five’s Roost was almost unique in the galaxy for the planet’s roaming forests - our trees migrated. The five river cities were built on rocky soil which the forests avoided but the rest of Five’s Roost was a roiling mass of trees wading their way through soil. Five’s Roost was the only planet both inhabited by sophonts with migrating forests.

My parents were dead. 

I shivered and adjusted the hammock wrapped incubator in my arms. I knew that the most expensive egg incubators on the market kept their charges at around the body temperature of the egg’s species, but I didn’t want to risk the egg in the winter’s cold. The faint glow of the interface window poked through the thin part of the hammock, only slightly dimmer than the glow of the half moon. 

My entire family. Gone. The Rharears had been an old family, predating the settlement of the river cities. Generations of Rharears and now only I was left. I wanted to scream. I had killed someone. I felt sick. I

had to keep the egg alive. My sibling.

After a while the rocky dirt path became softer beneath my feet. In the dim light of the moon I could see solitary trees slumbering in piles of unearthed soil, their roots slowly pulsating. Come the light of day and they would be much more active. I’d seen videos of trees travelling a kilometre in a day.

The trees began to grow thick and the air was filled with the groaning of wood. I saw an orange glow in the far distance through the trees. Fire? I stepped off the path and headed towards the light. My foot sank further into the soil than I’d expected and I stumbled forwards, barely catching myself. I should have expected the ground to be soft from the rain. The earth was lined with roots both dead and alive which I trod on rather than let myself drown in the mud. I held the hammock-wrapped incubator to my chest as strongly as I dared.

Would Element Holdings report me to the police? Was I a criminal? Would they find me even here? Would the Comhonlimers even help me?

The trees became thick and tall with golden leaves and roots that were wider than I was tall. I was in the Comhonlim Copse. I could see shapes in the trees, shadowed by the fire onto the Comhonlims. Hammocks hanging from the middle branches. Baskets and equipment hooked around the place. Handholds and steps carved into the bark of the trees, yet not so deeply as to kill the trees. There must have been over fifty trees and a hundred beds hanging from them. A silhouetted Margan broke off from the centre of the mobile village and approached me. They must have turned on a torch as bright light shone in my eyes. 

“Who is that?” 

I blinked furiously as my left eye was pressured by the torch beam, the world outside its cone suddenly darker. The torch-Margan must have noticed my discomfort and lowered the torchlight to my feet. I opened and closed my eyes slowly to massage out the after image in my retinas. I forced myself to calm while doing my best to look in distress. The Margan before me could only be a guard. She was a Margan woman with a powerful stature and brown feathers that were either poorly groomed or had seen a more active lifestyle than you’d find in the Bronzebrook. I tilted my head to the side as politely as I could, trying to remember all that I’d forgotten of village customs.

“I am Excellent Diligence of the Rharear line. I,” the breaking of my voice was genuine and I fought to keep the tears from my eyes. “...seek refuge.”

The guardswoman looked poleaxed. “Would the law enforcement in Bronzebrook not be able to help?” she asked. Then she gathered herself and shook the arm that wasn’t holding the torch. I will need to tell Elated Solution you are here. Please come with me.” She glanced at the hammock-wrapped incubator that was faintly glowing but said nothing. The guardswoman dithered for a moment, then led me through the village.

I’d never been to a forest village before. On any other day the opportunity would have at the very least been hugely exciting but after all that had happened the novelty hardly registered in my mind. The Comhonlim trees were thicker and taller than the wild forest trees after generations of domestication. We passed under hammocks big and small swaying softly in the wind, each undoubtedly filled with a sleeping Margan. Lengths of knotted rope dangled from the branches by each hammock. The guardswoman led me to a smaller tree on the edge of the village and shone her torch up at one of two hammocks swaying on close branches. She grasped the rope attached to one of the branches and gave it a sharp tug. In the relative quiet of the night I heard the faint clattering of chimes. The guardswoman waited for a few seconds before tugging at the rope again. The chimes sounded once more.

The hammock shook on the branch, the Margan inside waking up. “...is it now…” The now very awake Margan took hold of the branch and pulled herself out of the hammock. She shimmied along to the rope and climbed down carefully, using the knots in the rope as foot rests. 

Once the Margan’s - Elated Solution, I assumed - feet were firmly on solid root she turned her right-eyed gaze to the Guardswoman beside me. Elated Solution was a Margan about twice my age. Like most Margan women her feathers were a dark brown. They were much less ruffled than that of the Guardswoman. She was approximately my height, though in body mass she was dwarfed by the guardswoman. This was not a Margan with an active lifestyle. “What are you waking me up at,” Elated Solution glanced at the moon with her left eye, “sometime past midnight for?” she asked. She turned her right gaze to me next. “This one? Did you decide to run away from home, child?”

I schooled my features into my best approximation of politeness and tilted my head to the left side. “I am Excellent Dilligence of Rharear. I request refuge. My life is in danger.”

Elated Solution waved her left arm dismissively. “And you decided not to go to law enforcement? You have no family in Bronzebrook that could sequester you away? Are you sure you did not simply tire of the river city instead?”

I waved my arm in the negative as respectfully as I could. “My family are, dead,” I said as calmly and politely as I could. Given the circumstances I hoped they would forgive any lack of tact. “They were murdered and I believe the killers could find me anywhere I went in Bronzebrook.”

The guardswoman stifled a gasp. Elated Solution’s stare narrowed. “Assuming you are telling the truth, who committed the crime?” she asked.

I hesitated. The sleep deprived Margan glowered threateningly. “Element Holdings,” I managed to say.

No one said a word. The bonfire crackled. Chimes sounded above us and the other hammock in the tree rustled. “Solution,” a male Margan voice called out “my love, what is happening?”

Elated Solution shot another glower and shouted softly up to her partner. “Someone wants refuge. Talking now. Go back to sleep. I will tell you what happened in the morning.”

“I see,” the talking hammock replied, “could this not wait in the morning? Positive Ulklaw has not yet returned from Bronzebrook so I do not believe the Copse will run until midday. That would give us time to discuss this on a full night’s rest.”

Elated Solution shook her arm irritably. “Fine then,” her eyes landed on my folded hammock. “You are certainly prepared to sleep in a village. Philosophical Sentiment will show you where to sleep and hang it.” The guardswoman - Philosophical Sentiment - shook her arm holding the torch. Elated Solution sighed and clambered up the rope and into her hammock. 

Philosophical Sentiment stared at me oddly before making what I could only assume was the comhonlim equivalent of a shrug. We made our way to one of the larger trees with multiple hammocks already hanging from the branches. She gestured for me to hand her the hammock and tried to pull it out of my hands when I didn’t move. 

“Sorry,” I said as I unwrapped the hammock from around the incubator. Sentiment’s eyes widened as I revealed the incubator. 

I handed her the hammock and she threaded the loops at one end of the hammock with a rope she took from a low-hanging basket. She threw the end of the rope not intertwined with the hammock onto the part of the branch closest to the tree and used it to steady herself as she climbed up the pegs embedded in the tree. Once she had reached the branch she braced herself against the tree trunk and pulled the hammock up by the rope. Then she tied the hammock loops to the branch, tying them thoroughly and I could only hope securely. Philosophical Sentiment then tied the rope to the branch properly and lowered the rope. I looked at it uncertainly, wary of dropping the incubator. I held it up to show my problem.

The guardswoman shook her arm and then pointed at the rope then the incubator. Of course. The incubator had several handles for ease of carrying, as well as strap loops on the bottom if the parent wished to simulate body warming. I passed the rope through the incubator’s loops and tied it as securely as I could, though not being a knotter it became something of a tangle. After tugging it a few times to make sure the incubator was secure I let go of the rope and stepped back to let Philosophical Sentiment lift it to the hammock. Once the incubator was in her grasp she examined it thoughtfully. While I could understand the interest - even in Bronzebrook most families would use an egg box instead - separation from my sibling’s egg was more than I could bear at that moment and I fought the urge to shout at her to hurry. After what felt like an age she placed the incubator in the hammock’s bag, untangled the mess of rope I had tied and lowered the rope again. Philosophical Sentiment climbed down the rope with ease that could have only come from a lifetime of practice.

“Use the footsteps,” the guardswoman said as quietly as she could while still being audible. One of the hammocks above me swayed as if the person inside were awake.

I shook my arm then grabbed a hold of the rope. I pressed my body against the tree and began the climb up the tree. It was warmer to the touch than most trees I’d felt on Five’s Roost. I almost slipped several times and my journey was several times slower than Philosophical Sentiment’s had been. Eventually I made it to the hammock and climbed inside, wary of the incubator. Below me I heard the guardswoman mutter incredulously and wander off. 

Sleep did not come easily that night. While the hammock was certainly comfortable I was still numb. After a while of tossing and turning and crying as quietly as I could I fell asleep.

***

_I was hungry, starving. The buildings were grey, lifeless. The people in the street were not. In the sky the moon called Innovation burned and melted, lights of actinic light flashing over the surface. Eyes in the sky, paroxysms that shook reality._

***

I could hear the sound of chimes. They clattered all around me. I lay in the hammock slackly. I had hoped it was a dream. They were dead. I was here. I did my best to dry my eyes and stuck my head out the hammock, using one hand to keep myself steady.

The village was much more active in the day time, perhaps because the trees had begun to wake up. Roots were carefully picking themselves out of the earth where they had been drinking the winter’s water. The roots coiled up like spider’s legs. All the denizens of the village were packing their baskets and bags and tying them to the branches. Boxes of the chirping Tassavar were secured to the tree trunks and I could see what could only be water barrels in the foliage of the trees. Children ran around and under the tree roots carrying miscellaneous items. One family of five that had presumably already packed their things were huddled together in a giant basket hanging from a thick branch. I hugged the incubator to my chest bitterly.

“Excellent Diligence,” Philosophical Sentiment called up to me, “Elated Solution wishes to speak with you. Lower your… egg to me first.”

After some awkward shuffling and maneuvering I made it to the forest floor with the incubator firmly in my arms. I held it as carefully as I could on our way to the centre of the village. Elated Solution looked to be in a much better mood in the light of day. She and her partner - a beautiful Margan man with what I could only call a calm demeanour - were in the middle of a conversation with a Margan woman I recognised all too well: Positive Ulklaw. The market woman saw Philosophica Sentiment and me approach and looked surprised for a moment before taking on a neutral expression, her left eye passing over us. Her gaze lingered on the incubator in my arms.

“...ran awa…” Elated Solution saw me and tilted her head minutely in greetings. “Excellent Diligence. I am glad to see you slept well. This is Positive Ulklaw. Our… predictor.”

“We met yesterday,” Positive Ulklaw said. She tilted her head in greeting. “When I mentioned that I would be here I did not expect you to stay the night waiting for me.”

“That was you?” Elated Solution looked irritated. She noticed the incubator and the irritation vanished from her face, replaced by something else. “Whose egg is that?”

“It belonged to my parents,” I said. I shifted nervously under their gazes. Elated Solution’s partner gave me a sympathetic arm waggle. 

Positive Ulklaw’s hand drifted to a pouch on her belt. I expected her to take out her divination cube but her hand remained there. She stared at the egg intently with both eyes, presumably leading with her ‘third eye’.

“I see,” Elated Solution said, “and you say that Element Holdings wants you dead?” The Margan woman crossed her arms, something like regret flashing across her face. “I am afraid we do not have the supplies necessary to take in two bodies in the winter days. I am afraid you will need to find shelter elsewhere.” 

Positive Ulklaw took her hand from the belt pouch, divination cube box in hand. She shook it a few times and stared intently at the results. Elated Solution and her partner stared at her with irritation and bemusement respectively. The ‘predictor’ cast her gaze towards me, towards the incubator. “Would you terribly mind if I examined your sibling?” she asked. 

I waved an arm slowly, the incubator held in my other arm. “Go ahead,” I said. Ulklaw turned the incubator in her arms whistling thoughtfully. She paid close attention to the egg plate. “Is this the sign of house Rharear?” She pointed to a symbol engraved and painted on the bezel. 

“Yes,” I said, “I - I am Excellent Diligence of House Rharear. I r- request refuge.”

Positive Ulklaw turned to Elated Solution. “Bronzebrook is still technically a village, even if it no longer moves. The Rharears can request refuge if they need it.”

Elated Solution scowled but it lacked heat. “In name only,” she said, “when was the last time they attended a summit? Fine. We can put this green feathered one to work. You will need to earn passage or we will present you to the next summit for aid.” Elated Solution’s frown deepened and I realised that she was waiting for a response. I shook my arm frantically.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Thank Positive Ulklaw,” Elated Solution said. She cleared her throat and shouted to the Margans running about the village. “We have something to announce. Excellent Dilligence has asked for refuge, which we shall give. Treat them as you would any other.” The Margans in earshot clapped in response and Elated Solution sighed. “Introductions can wait after Comhonlim has stopped sprinting. You might want to return to your hammock.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone who's reading this. I haven't posted to this forum, but my stellaris roleplaying group came up with a fun setting for our current game, where a number of empires were linked together in the past by a single large federation. My roleplaying partner and I had so much fun coming up with the history of our species that I felt like it could be made into a story, and since Nanowrimo was coming up I thought it was the perfect time to do so. I haven't written anything in six years or so outside of academics and Stellaris RP, so hopefully it isn't too hard to read. I would also appreciate any feedback you have, especially regarding the setting and exposition.


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